


The Shortest and Sweetest of Songs

by chasingbluefish, YumeNouveau



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1850s non magic AU, Being Disowned, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Class Systems, Period-Typical Homophobia, Regulus is a Good Brother, The Black Family Being the Black Family, Two men in love, Victorian Attitudes, m/m romance, victorian london
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 09:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18938446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingbluefish/pseuds/chasingbluefish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumeNouveau/pseuds/YumeNouveau
Summary: Two strangers meet and fall in love in Victorian London.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Author Notes:
> 
> Wow, where to start? The title is from the two word poem by George Macdonald. It simply reads 'Come Home.' which I found very fitting for a story about two men who were ultimately looking for their home. 
> 
> I loved the idea of a reverse bang! Because it gives artists the chance to run free instead of being restricted to our story outlines and I don't think I'm alone here in saying that I get inspired by art every single day. It was a tough choice when I saw all of the amazing pieces but something about Yume's library piece really grabbed me and immediately a story started in my head. I am so thrilled we got partnered together and I cannot say enough about how amazing she is. Thank you to everyone who put up with me along the way, Gloom, Muse, Nacho, Arty, Yume, and everyone in the WSBB and R/S Discord. You guys are rockstars. Muse and Arty, you are the best betas. Nacho thank you for letting me bounce ideas off of you! Gloom, for all of my Brit questions. Gah. I'm rambling. THANK YOU
> 
> ARTIST'S NOTES:  
> This fest was such a wonderful idea, I loved being able to run wild with my current tropes/ideas and have an author be inspired by me for a change! Thank you to Em for snatching me up and making me feel loved, I was so lucky to have such a great author! She immediately started doing research (gasp!) and took my ideas and ran with them and made the story more beautiful and authentic than I could have hoped!  
> Also huge thanks to the awesome mods for running this. WSBB is what got me from a lurker to a participant in the Wolfstar Fandom so it holds such a special place in my heart!

 

 

 

 

 

Sirius Black shifted his torso sideways, twisting so that he could see the way his coat settled across the line of his shoulders.

“Too posh?” He asked, finding his valet’s gaze in the mirror.

“If you’ll pardon the honesty, yes, my lord. Perhaps the dark grey?” Wilkins held up a coat of a simpler cut, with much less embellishment done in a dark ash broadcloth. Without a word, Sirius slipped the current offering from his frame and tossed it onto the nearest ottoman. Wilkins held the new coat open, waiting for Sirius to step into it before straightening it where needed and stepping back once more.

“Well, the quality of my shirt cannot be helped but I prefer the cotton against my skin,” Sirius said finally, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. He had allowed his stubble to grow out during the day, having no social engagements, nor appointments. It was the closest he would allow to the current mustache trend gracing the face of most men in London. Selecting a black ribbon from the vanity, Sirius tied his hair back in a loose tail. Its length was also unfashionably long, reaching past his nape and just below the line of his shoulders. Despite the constant haranguing of his mother and the japes of his peers, he refused to cut it.

“...” Again he surveyed himself, reaching to tilt the oil lamp above for a better light. The silk of his necktie glowed in the flickering beam and he found himself nodded, hands drifting to sooth the simple waistcoat. “Yes... this is acceptable. Thank you Wilkins.”

Behind him Wilkins gave a short bow.

“You may retire. I will be away for quite some time. Leave the side door unlocked,” Sirius said, waiting for the valet to nod and slide silently out of the room.

A familiar sense of excitement fizzed just beneath his ribs as he contemplated the bowler hat purchased by Wilkins on his directions earlier that day. It seemed perhaps a touch too much but if anything it would serve to keep the soot from his hair and he grasped it from the vanity and slipped it atop his head.

Montagu house was silent as he stepped out into the corridor. With everyone at the family seat, Widdowsburne, only the barest of staff had been kept on in London. No matter their disapproval, the Marquis and Marchioness of Montagu would never risk the scorn of leaving their heir unattended.

Down the grand staircase, across the foyer and into the warren of smaller, closer spaces that facilitated the quick and invisible travel of staff, Sirius wound his way to a small side-entrance.

The smells of London fell on him like a shroud once he was outside. Their beautifully manicured garden did little to disguise the scent of the Thames with the townhouse fronting the grand river.

Wrinkling his nose, Sirius wound his way through the paths and to the large wall that kept them segregated from the street. A discreet gate, again for staff, was quickly dispensed with and Sirius stepped out into the traffic of The Strand. Around him rose the grandest of the elite’s townhouses, Montagu taking pride of place like a small palace. An expression of distaste briefly touched his face before he ducked his head and wove his way into the crowds.

A growing number of high class restaurants and small shops catering to the upper classes had begun to take root here and there on the street and it was their patrons that he used as a shield. Of course there was always the risk that someone might recognise him but he told himself that he didn’t much care what anyone thought and should word reach his mother that he was galavanting across London in the clothes of a less fortunate man he resolved to show up at Widdowsburne in sackcloth.

Besides, they were investing in a new townhouse in the West End. The Strand was beginning to lower itself in his family’s estimation what with the new business ventures popping up. Even a small chance of mingling with a person of common birth made Walburga Black’s lip curl. Only on her charitable excursions, done exclusively for appearance’s sake, did she deign to lower herself. He pictured the unopened letter sitting on his desk and the recriminations and displeasure with him sure to be inside. It would be tossed with all of the other unopened scoldings in a drawer, never to be seen.

“Bitch,” Sirius muttered to himself with a snort, ducking into a side street, skirting an open fareway, and winding his way down a familiar path. All thoughts of his illustrious family and the negative associations therein were quickly shoved aside as he picked up the pace.

When he caught sight of the Cleveland Street sign an instant wave of relief washed over him. His shoulders eased, he felt able to draw in a full breath in spite of the soot and pollution. That indescribable feeling of ‘home’ settled somewhere deep in his bones and he smiled, the first genuine smile to grace his face in days.

 Around him the street still appeared to retain its posh facade, appropriate to its dignified location, but a visible shift had occurred. Most of those he passed were men. It was not so late in the evening that it would be uncommon to see a woman on a man’s arm or a pair of women travelling together. Yet, Sirius found himself hard pressed to find more than three. Four if he counted the woman ten feet ahead of him yet he considered her an acquaintance. Phyllis was a young clerk born to his parents as Phillip. He enjoyed his life as Phillip, had told Sirius as much,  but also felt a need to let Phyllis free. Across the way a very handsome gentleman tipped his hat at Sirius and he returned the gesture with a smile. Nathaniel was a man of middle age; he’d adopted the name a decade prior when he had made the decision to live as his true self. And on more than one occasion he had drunk Sirius under the table.

A sudden right brought Sirius into a narrow space between two homes. The gas-lit street lamps didn’t illuminate much past the first few feet but he knew the way by heart and after sidestepping more than one puddle and listening to the sound of laughter up ahead, he turned again and came upon a solid wooden door. Oil lanterns flickered on either side of the jamb and a peeling sign hanging from the brick read ‘The Blue Bells’. However the second ‘e’ had been scratched out into the shape of an ‘a’. Along with some suggestive carving around the eponymous flowers that decorated the old wood.

Plucking off his hat, Sirius tucked it under his arm and knocked with his other hand in a quick succession of predetermined taps. A tiny wooden square slid back to reveal a pair blue eyes.

“Evening Mick.” Sirius grinned.

“Black.”

He could hear the twist of the bolt and suddenly the door swung inwards.

An immediate wave of warmth swept over him as he took in the scent of smoke and bodies, of alcohol. Various perfumes and colognes. More importantly, the sound of voices raised in laughter. He recognised most. Even as he stepped inside people were calling out greetings, ‘Black, you old dog’, ‘My favourite prince’, and other catcalls. He rolled his eyes, grinning in turns, as he sidled up to the old wooden bar.

“Welcome back, darling.” Michael, the owner of the establishment, was resplendent in blue silk and crinoline from the waist down, and a smart linen shirt and waistcoat.

“You look positively radiant,” Sirius said, lips twitching up into a smile.

That final knot of tension had eased as soon as he’d come inside. All around him people rejoiced in each other’s company, ignorant to the world’s judgement and it made his heart light. The strict etiquette guiding society did not apply here. Given names were used by those known to each other, people of the same gender mingled in ways that would garner them time in jail or worse outside. In The Blue Bells there was no judgement.

In the corner two men, one with a fiddle and one at the piano, played a lively song and he found himself nodding to it as Michael slid a large measure of whiskey into his hand.

Sirius drained it down in one and set the glass back down again, waiting as Michael filled it once more.

“Bad day?”

“Not particularly. I haven’t brought myself to read her letter yet,” Sirius replied, referencing his mother’s incessant attempts to draw him out to the family seat. “Fortifying myself first.” He lifted his now full tumblr in a salute before pushing off of the bar and wandering into the main room.

A man waved at him, a handful of cards held aloft and Sirius nodded. “Whist?”

“Yes. Just about to start. Are you in?”

“Are you prepared to lose your shirt once more?”

“Overconfident. I like that.”

Sirius sank down into a vacant seat and felt himself relax.

  


It was nearly one in the morning as Sirius stepped back out into the alley. His head was pleasantly fuzzed as he navigated the cobbles and finally found his way back to the street. There were far less people about although more windows were lit around him. Those that did walk, were clearly as deep in their cups as he himself and cheery waves were issued to those he recognised or thought he did. He whistled the last song the lads had played, one arm swinging at his side. As he passed a familiar address, he paused, gazing up at the prim facade. It was a well known establishment of vice, particularly catering to men who preferred the company of men. A place where those of higher society could go to let their mask fall and copious bribes and a blind eye kept them generally safe. There was a safety here that lacked in the farther districts, the places where one could simply turn up and find what they were looking for. Sirius wasn’t adverse to such places. He’d visited before. Their danger appealed to his youth and recklessness. No tufted settees, no feather beds or bathrooms with indoor plumbing in which to clean up after an encounter. No butlers or runners offering drinks and small amuse bouche.

He liked variety in his life. He liked thrill.

Tonight however, he did not fancy himself in the mood for a nameless encounter. He had simply wanted company. To escape the confines of his gilded life for a few hours 

And so he gathered himself and continued on down the street.

Trying to see the stars past the soot and fog was an impossible task but it didn’t stop him from trying and it was with his head tilted up, eyes wide, but not on his path that he attempted to continue his way home.

The collision of shoulders with someone else caught him by surprise, though he supposed it shouldn’t have, and immediately he dropped his gaze, an apology on his lips.

“So sorry my dear fellow.

The man with which he’d crossed paths was straightening his hat and Sirius found himself utterly arrested.

It wasn’t that the man was traditionally handsome. His nose was just a bit too big, slightly off kilter. Lips that weren’t entirely full but a lovely cupid’s bow shape. His cheeks were quite high, his jaw a bit long. A shadow of light stubble graced that jaw and he found himself wanting to reach out and touch. Almost did, but refrained. It was difficult to tell the colour of his eyes beneath the brim of his hat but Sirius wanted to say a light brown. Hazel perhaps? A few strands, sandy in colour, escaped from beneath the bowler. But something, some intangible thing that Sirius was struggling to pinpoint, was drawing him in.

“...you alright?” It took a moment for the words to seep in.

“Yes, quite. Apologies,” Sirius found himself saying, a perfunctory nod accompanying his response. The other man looked unconvinced but did not press.

“Evening then.”

“Evening.”

At that he took off, walking quickly, and Sirius turned to watch. Not everyone was as comfortable in this place as he himself was and he respected that. However, it did not stop him from observing the thin frame or the less expensive clothes the man wore. A tad out of place in the posh district but Sirius found that he liked it. Class rules be damned. Hell, all they did was cause problems anyways.

As the stranger turned, disappearing into the alley that Sirius had so recently vacated, Sirius stopped his thoughts from meandering anywhere near his views on the class system and took up whistling once more.

Twenty minutes later saw him standing outside of Montagu house, enjoying the lack of light in the windows that signified a missing family.

Through the side entrances, slipping through increasingly large passageways.

He came to a stop in the grand foyer, and stood, staring.

Hand painted wallpaper was seamlessly applied to walls spanning three stories high. A large fresco had been painted along the the wall adjoining the grand staircase, above which sat portrait after portrait of the house’s esteemed former tenants. They nestled perfectly amidst the design as though meant to be and privately Sirius thought it probable that a former Marchioness had had it painted around their ancestors.  

Pride of place hung a gilt and crystal chandelier that could hold hundreds of candles, mirrors strategically placed to reflect and amplify the light. Brocade on the windows, a perfectly tiled floor. Their family crest had been painstakingly mosaic-ed into the center where it was impossible to miss.

Everything was perfect. The highest of quality. Their goblets were Venetian glass, their wardrobes bespoke of the latest fashion. Hell, their food was handpicked by a french chef who was paid the extra wages to oversee everything from farm to table.

And it would all be his at his father’s death. Every single little thing. The perfect house, the palatial manor, the paris rooms. A myriad of other properties. The responsibilities, the parliament sittings, the glad handing, the family image. Whenever Sirius tried to imagine himself as the Marquess of Montagu his lungs would shrink and his heart would race. Cold sweat would prick up along his brow and across his palms.

Of course he needed to marry and produce more heirs. That had been hammered into him in the limited meetings he endured with his mother and father. Find a suitable bride, have at least three sons. Uphold the family honour.

And he would...eventually. At twenty one the pressure was beginning to increase from home but he ignored it, pushed it aside like a bad dream dispersed by morning light.

But for the present he would get away with what he could until there was no other choice. And once those heirs had been born he would do his best to be a good father and give his children the love he craved and his wife freedom, but he would live his life as he saw fit. A reward for being the dutiful son.

“Out, damned demons,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear the dark thoughts.

Grasping the banister tightly, he ascended the stairs and meandered his way to his room.

Everything was pristine, the extra clothing put away, the bed perfectly made up.

He stripped off his coat, stepped out of his shoes, and quickly undid his necktie. They landed in a heap on the armchair in front of the fireplace. Slowly the rest followed until he was in a total state of dishabille. His collection of nightshirts remained untouched as he dragged back the silken covers and crawled in. The fire was freshly banked. They must have heard him coming in.

Sirius stared up at the red patterned silk of his four poster canopy. It was a huge antique thing, all carved details and heavy drapes.  He left them open, studying the way the flames danced.

Unbidden an image of the man from the street came to him and a small thrill danced somewhere below his heart. He smiled, recreating that face, memorising it.   _Who are you? Hm...and why do you intrigue me so?_ Details slotted into place, things like the exact angle of his jaw and the way his lips seemed to almost quirk but not quite. _What would you look like when you smile?_

Sirius imagined himself reaching to cup his cheek, to stroke the rough stubble with the pad of his thumb. Perhaps he would press just there, at the juncture of the man’s lips. Would he welcome the intrusion? Draw that thumb into his mouth, suck it into the wet heat.

A frisson of arousal had him reaching for himself and he groaned softly as the scene played out.

The man dropping to his knees, thumb abandoned, as he undid Sirius’ trousers and pushed them aside. Pure bliss when he parted his lips over Sirius’ cock and drew him deep. Sirius could feel the fair texture of the man’s hair, sandy waves tangled between his fingers as he urged him on.

He came with a low moan, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp with sweat.

Even then the image didn’t fade. Except now it was simply his stranger standing there, one eyebrow lifted in question. As Sirius reached beside the bed, hoping and searching for a discarded anything, he sighed. All of the little irregularities should have made the man ordinary. But somehow, well, they didn’t. He wanted to find him. To know him. To see what his face did when he smiled, laughed, frowned. Who _was_ he?

“You’ll never see him again, Black,” Sirius told himself, grinning when his fingers finally closed around a shirtsleeve. He dragged it up, and used it to clean himself as best he could before tossing it back in the direction he’d found it.

Sated, drunk, and relatively at ease, Sirius rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter Two

It was nearly noon when Sirius finally roused himself. A silk dressing gown had been laid across the foot of the bed and every article of clothing discarded the night before was gone. A tray with tea, still steaming, and an assortment of fresh fruit was set on a serving tray along with some digestives. 

He knew he had a charitable engagement but the nature of it eluded him. His mother scheduled them as punishment for his remaining in town. Fortunately he enjoyed helping those who needed it, something his mother would never understand.

As he belted the gown about his waist and began to pick at the food there was a discreet knock at the door. 

“Enter.” 

Wilkins appeared.

“My Lord.”

“Where am I expected today?”

“University College, my Lord. The family has made a sizable donation. A tour of the newer facilities and the classes.”

“Ah.Thank you.” It sounded familiar. The university had opened only two decades prior and was making leaps and bounds in education and championing the ability of those without financial means to still receive that education. He’d heard rumblings of admitting women as well, which he thought was an exceptional idea. He knew women smarter than some of the ‘brightest’ minds lauded in society.

“Your bath has been drawn as well.”

The idea of a steaming bath brought a smile to Sirius’ face and he quickly drained his tea, grabbed a biscuit to go, and made his way to the adjoining bathroom. 

As promised, the rolltop bath was filled nearly to the top and his toiletries were arranged carefully on a decorative side table. 

Robe discarded, he slipped into the water, hissing at the temperature, and slowly stretched out his limbs. Even as he felt the tension in his muscles uncoil Sirius’ thoughts drifted to last night’s mystery man. 

Would he be in Cleveland Street again tonight? The same time? Perhaps he could describe the man to Michael and he would be familiar with him? 

As he soaped his hair and continued to contemplate his options, Wilkins knocked twice, and entered with warm towels which he set out and disappeared once again. Soon fresh pitchers of water were brought as well and Sirius finally peeled himself out of the bath and rinsed. 

Three options bad been laid out for his perusal and as he continued to pick at the fruit, Wilkins patiently to the side.

He wiped his fingers against the silk of his dressing gown, ignoring Wilkin’s wince, and reached to touch one of the coats. Ash grey, almost like a morning mist, baby soft. The lapels were trimmed in a shade two or three tones darker and he grinned. 

“This... with the ivory waistcoat and the navy cravat. But those trousers.” He pointed to a subtle check that married various greys and tan with a thread of blue. 

“Yes My Lord.” 

The water, razor, and soap were laid out for his shave and he settled in the chair and left himself in Wilkin’s capable hands. 

“You must cancel any engagements I have tonight.”

“Yes My Lord.”

“Tell them... whatever you feel appropriate.”

“Will you be remaining at home?” 

“No. I have something of importance I must see to.”

In the mirror he saw the valet nod. 

They had been together since Sirius had turned twelve and he felt more like family to the young lord than those who shared his blood. Wilkins was party to his deepest secrets and had never once betrayed him. 

As the blade scraped expertly across his skin, Sirius conjured up the face of his preoccupation. 

The man was almost ordinary looking. Was ordinary, if one really thought about it. And yet the man had been a constant in his thoughts, dreams even, since their collision. What about him was so damned captivating? There was an attraction there. Sirius felt it. He had been quite taken with the idea of simply leaning in and kissing the bastard. He had wanted to grasp the sides of his face and stare into his eyes, touch his skin. Taste him. But it ran deeper than that. Sirius was eager to know him. Who was he? What was his name? If he thought about it he supposed it would be something simple. John, Henry, James, George. 

Wilkins held up two bottles and Sirius gestured at shorter of the two. 

The soothing scent of lavender suffused the air and he sighed contentedly as the lotion was massaged into his skin. 

Was it the eyes? There had been intelligence there, a keen intelligence. 

“I am full of fancies, Wilkins,” he sighed, cracking an eye open. 

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something brilliant there. Drunken musings or no, Sirius knew he wouldn’t be able to satisfy his curiosity unless he met the man again. 

  
  
  


Remus ignored the bloom of ink spreading across his thumb, eyes trained on the professor as he labeled the diagram on the blackboard. Even the creak of the class door opening barely broke his concentration.

It wasn’t until the professor paused his teachings and set the chalk down that Remus realised perhaps he should look. 

“Lord Montagu. It is an honour to have you in our humble theater.” 

A lord? Remus turned his head to see their guest and felt his breath catch in his throat. 

“Ah, you are very generous but I assure you the honour is mine. Everyone has the right to an education and any aid I am able to provide is a privilege.”

“You are too kind, My Lord,” The dean escorting the lord said with a polite smile. 

As he spoke, Lord Montagu’s gaze swept the classroom and Remus froze when it came to a pause in his direction. The grey eyes widened slightly in surprise and Remus hastily ducked his head, staring hard at his notes. 

There was no doubt in Remus’ mind that this was the gentleman who had bumped into him the previous night. The arrestingly handsome man who’d been humming a bawdy tune and staring at the stars. 

A lord. A bloody lord.

It had been a lord who had stared into his face so intently that for the briefest of seconds Remus had been worried. Until he had seen the interest behind it. Self-doubt had caused him to break the connection and carry on with his night. Perhaps it was for the best. Nothing could kill a burgeoning medical career, or indeed, one’s livelihood, than being caught in the papers for indecent behaviour with a man richer than sin. Or at all. 

But dammit the man was beautiful. All tall, lean lines. Silver-grey eyes and hair that fell just below his shoulders. The length itself was terribly against current fashion but Remus realised he couldn’t imagine it any other way. And it suited the young lord. He looked dashing and Byronic. 

“I do not want to deprive your students further from their lesson and will take my leave. Thank you for allowing me into your classroom, Professor.” Lord Montagu’s voice broke through Remus’ thoughts and he quickly trained his eyes back down to his papers until the sound of the door closing signaled safety.   

  
  
  


Two hours later Remus had migrated to the library to ensconce himself in a study carrel with borrowed reference texts. The silence of the place had always served to center him and he sought that peace now. He had a paper due two days hence on the symptomatology of disease of the liver with suggested remedies. 

He only registered the sound of someone seating themselves on the other side of the divider as a background noise. Most students learned quickly how to isolate themselves in crowded conditions, a survival trait.  It wasn’t until a folded paper appeared, along with a decidedly masculine and clean hand bearing a gold ring with a red stone. The message was tossed carelessly onto his desk and the hand retreated. 

Arching a brow, he opened the paper and quickly skimmed the words. 

_ ‘What is your name?’ _

The script was educated. Perfectly slanted lines, the right amount of flourish. Whomever had written it had received expensive schooling. 

Remus turned his head a fraction and leaned back in his chair just enough to catch sight of silk black hair and ash grey fabric.  _ Oh Christ. _ Remus thought with a jolt as he ducked back into his nook. Lord Montagu. How…? The brief idea of ignoring the lord flitted through his mind and was summarily dismissed. It was in bad taste and the man was a -lord-. One word could get Remus blacklisted from the university. Yet a niggling feeling told him that Lord Montagu wouldn’t lower himself to such an act. 

Flattening the paper, he wrote. 

_ ‘Remus J. Lupin’ _

And quietly flicked it around the barrier. He could hear his heart in his ears, fingers restlessly smoothing his notes, glancing anywhere but at his work. 

The paper landed next to him. 

_ ‘Interesting. I had pegged you as a George or John. Are you by chance a twin?’ _

A smile touched Remus’ lips and he grabbed his pencil to reply. 

_ ‘I cannot lay claim to a twin. Only parents who have a love of the classics. My middle name is John. Does that disappoint?’ _

And so it began.

_ ‘No. No disappointment. Infact, I find it quite intriguing. I would apologise for my unseemly behaviour the night previous but that would be a lie.’  _

_ ‘You comported yourself like a gentleman, my lord.’ _

_ ‘Have you come across botany in your medical studies?’ _

The question confused Remus but he replied honestly.

_ ‘We have discussed the healing properties of certain plant species but nothing so in _

_ depth.’ _

_ ‘I find blue bells to be at the height of their beauty during this time of year.’ _

The reference was not lost on Remus. Nor was he unaware of the flush creeping up the back of his neck. This was veering into dangerous territory yet the unexpected thrill those words caused had him scrawling a quick reply. 

_ ‘An enjoyable flower. Quite rare in London but I have seen a sprig or two on Cleveland Street.’ _

Lord Montagu took longer to send the paper back and Remus frowned, wondering if his answer had been too direct. 

_ ‘I require an escort out of the school, otherwise I will be hopelessly lost. Would you be so kind? _

Remus didn’t bother to write back. Instead, he quickly folded the paper into a small square and tucked into his trouser pocket. While he gathered his things, he could hear Lord Montagu’s chair scrape back. 

Again, Remus was struck by how handsome the man was, and his height. He wondered briefly what it must be like, to be born with an inexhaustible supply of money, a guaranteed future, and a perfect physique. As if sensing his thoughts, Lord Montagu glanced over his shoulder with a knowing look in his eyes and Remus ducked his head. 

Noise assaulted them as soon as they opened the door and Remus took the lead. It would rather ruin the story if he followed Lord Montagu after agreeing to be the guide. 

Near the front entrance there lay a small antechamber and when they reached it the pair ducked into a secluded alcove. 

“Remus John Lupin.” Lord Montagu said the name as though savouring it and Remus found himself thinking all sorts of unsuitable things. “Do you fancy a bit of a walk tonight? I’ve heard that blue bells are particularly transcendent in the starlight. Especially when the clock strikes nine?”

“Have you?” Remus replied, ignoring the fact that the smog would make any celestial light impossible to see. 

“Indeed.”

“I will consider the offer quite seriously.”

At that Lord Montagu nodded, moving to tug on his gloves. Remus watched the action absently, noting the precise movements, the fluidity of it. There was a subtle beauty there that fascinated him. He wondered about the feel of that soft leather against his skin. 

“Please do.” 

“My Lord,” Remus nodded. He felt Lord Montagu’s gaze linger on his face one final time before the man slipped outside and climbed into an impossibly elegant brougham carriage that was waiting at the steps. Remus lingered a few moments longer, lost in thought. 

“Oi! Lupin, trying to cop a sponsor?” A boy shouted across the foyer. Remus rolled his eyes, and shook his head with a grin. 

“Got lost. Needed help finding the door,” he replied.

“That lot need help wiping their own arse.” 

“But we need ‘em if we want to go to school,” someone else chimed in. 

As the conversation took off, Remus did as well. 

He had no more classes for the day which left him enough time to get a decent amount of his paper done with just enough left over to stop by the bathhouse. 

Because despite the risks, he was going to The Blue Bells


	3. Chapter Three

Dark had fallen. 

 

Remus felt a flutter of nerves as he stepped out into the cool evening air. 

Beneath the clatter of hooves and the rattling of wooden wheels he could hear his pulse, the sound of his heart thudding against his ribcage. 

Common sense dictated that he should turn around and go back. To finish his essay and forget that Lord Montagu had ever crossed his path. The penalty for consorting with one’s own gender was a dire one. Years of hard labor in gaol, or a death sentence, were not unheard of and more the rule than the exception. If there was one guaranteed way to completely ruin one’s future, it would be this. He did not have the same protections that the aristocracy had, and the shame would not only fall on himself, but also to his parents. Parents who had worked themselves to the bone to make sure that their only child had an education, a chance. How ungrateful could he be?

And yet, he had realised at a young age, this was who he was. Never had he confided his thoughts and yearnings aloud but despite that, he had found his way into the arms of those who felt a similar or same way.

Coming to London had been a revelation. There were streets and taverns and localities catered to people seeking something outside the normal parameters. And safety. Safety found with men of his own class and status. Men who had equal amounts to lose if caught.

Lord Montagu was none of those things. His wealth and pedigree protected him. Remus would be thrown to the dogs and therein lay his new fear. 

The Blue Bells was not his usual haunt but he had been several times. It was a slightly more affluent place than his usual haunts that catered to those in the upper echelons of society. Better drink, better light, better food. It occupied an entire house. 

_ Get yourself together, man. _

Remus shook his head as though to clear it and reached to straighten his coat. 

The chances of Lord Montagu walking into his classroom after the nature of their encounter were astronomically slim. If one were prone to fancies about fate one would think perhaps it was destined. Remus considered himself a more pragmatic fellow than that but he couldn’t deny that something about the aristocrat made his pulse thrum. He felt emboldened, an eager sort of excitement blanketing the nerves as he traversed the short distance. 

When he found himself at the mouth of the alley leading to the tavern he took a minute to straighten his clothing, adjust his hat. Remus glanced around for a puddle to peer in but none were in sight so he contented himself with the hope that he was presentable. Hell, he knew he was ordinary looking. The only thing really of note was his hair. A thick mess of waves that he routinely combed into submission but had been told by past lovers was a gift. 

Remus took one last fortifying breath, ignoring the smells of the city, and carried on. 

The blessing of an unusual name was that it wasn’t easily forgotten and the man at the door let him in immediately. They exchanged greetings and Remus paused just inside to let his eyes scan the room. 

A mish mash of wooden tables from slats to fancy dining sets dotted the space. A crooked chandelier hung as the pride of place, at least fifty candles glowing from its boughs. Lanterns were shoved into every nook and cranny, candelabras socked on available surfaces. The heat seeped into his pores and he quickly slipped his coat off, folding it over his arm.  

“Remus John Lupin. You came.” A pleased note suffused the lord’s voice and Remus turned to find him standing a foot away, already in shirt sleeves and braces. A day’s stubble graced his jaw and his hair, so well groomed and tied back at the university, fell about his face untethered. Remus was immediately, acutely, aware that missing this rendezvous would have been the greatest mistake of his life.

"I nearly didn't."

"Then I would have been forced to endure another tour of your university."

"Another donation?"

"Oh of course. Budding minds and all that. Especially the medical students. I need to keep an eye on them most of all." Lord Montagu winked and then held out his hand. "Sirius Black."

“Remus John Lupin. Although, I feel ridiculous introducing myself again.”

“Don’t. You have a fantastic name.” Sirius nodded his head towards a corner table with two wingback chairs on either side of it. No sooner had they seated themselves, Michael was there with a bottle of wine and two clean glasses. 

“Lupin, it’s been an age. How are you?” He asked, pouring both men a healthy serving and setting the bottle down between them. 

“Quite well. Tied up with my studies. Yourself?”

“Michael is perfectly well. Still happily entangled with Martin and enjoying the new batch of Madeira that just shipped in,” Sirius broke in impatiently. Instead of feeling insulted, Michael chuckled, reaching to pat the brunette on the shoulder. 

“I am not a dense man. Lupin is a good egg, you take care with him,” the publican cautioned good naturedly before taking his leave. 

“A good egg? High praise from Michael.”

“I spent time with one of his friends. It’s how I discovered the place.”

“Which friend?”

“Now, that would be telling.” Remus found himself grinning, studying Sirius across the table. Candlelight flickered between them and his eyes followed the way it played across Sirius’ skin. 

“Fair enough.” Sirius took a long drink of his wine. “Now tell me about yourself. Everything. Where you grew up, your family, your interests. What made you pursue medicine? What do you like to read? Have you any opinions on art? Your dreams?”

Remus blinked at the earnestness in the questions, the amount of them. 

“My Lord-”

“No,” Sirius cut in immediately, slicing his hand through the air for emphasis. “We can dispense with titles. I would prefer you use my given name but if that seems too intimate, Black will do. It is my one caveat. No Lord or Sir or honorifics. Sirius or Black.”

“Sirius. The star?”

“The very same. My family has a long habit of delving into constellations. The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black are above the earth, above mere mortals. And so they mine the heavens for their sobriquets.”

“You don’t sound very fond of them.”

“I cannot claim to be. Well...I have a cousin or two I admire. My younger brother is a good man despite being under the thumb of our parents.”

“Another star?”

“Regulus.”

“The lion and the dog.”

A woman dressed in trousers with hair clipped short appeared at their table with a tray that held a crisp, golden pie and roasted potatoes. A gravy boat and square of butter were set down as well as cutlery. 

“I thought you might be hungry,” Sirius explained. 

“Rabbits caught fresh today,” their server said, picking up the bottle of wine to see how much remained. Satisfied that they had enough to get on with their meal, she wished them a good repast and departed. 

All around them sounds of discourse and laughter rose and fell. Someone had taken up a fiddle. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you managed to turn the conversation towards myself.”

“I find myself just as curious about you as you seem to be about me. I can’t help it.”

“An even exchange then.

“I grew up in Stoke Newington,” Remus offered, cutting into the pie. As the scent of stewed meat and vegetables drifted up to him he felt his mouth water. In his rush to finish his paper and get to the bathhouse, he had skipped the simple dinner offered to students. 

“When did you come to London?”

“A few years ago. I wanted to further my schooling before applying to the University.”

“Do you stay in the housing provided for students?”

“I do. Why do you spend all of your time in London? Quite the scandal that you ignore all of the social seasons.”

“I can see you read the papers.”

“Only in passing.”

“I despise my family. I prefer the city. Do you like poetry? Fiction? History? What do you like to read?”

“Everything,” Remus answered, pausing to eat a few bites. He could still feel Sirius staring at him, studying him. “Depends on my mood. My parents have a shelf full of classics which I grew up reading but I supplemented it with more contemporary pieces when I could. Poetry, periodicals, novels. You?”

“I was forced to learn the classics by heart and travel abroad to see their foundations. I admire them but I find the modern writings more exciting. Poetry?”

“Yes.”

“Sonnets?”

“Shakespeare or Browning?”

“Elizabeth or Robert?" Sirius looked positively delighted. 

Back and forth they went, candles burning lower, plates cleared and wine replenished. Hours trickled by until the clock struck midnight.

"Have you seen the library?" Sirius asked. He was sprawled comfortably in his seat, one arm resting along the table, fingers tantalisingly close to Remus'. 

"Which library?" Remus himself was pleasantly tipsy but not quite drunk. He'd long ago unfastened his collar and the top button of his shirt against the heat of the room. 

"Upstairs. The forbidden texts."

"Can't say that I have. Sounds exciting." He knew that rooms upstairs were typically used for assignations, had taken advantage of their purpose on more than one occasion, and found Sirius approach quite endearing.

"You'll see. Come with me." Sirius had pushed himself up from his seat and Remus followed, taking the proffered hand automatically. As they climbed the wooden stairs he could feel more than a few gazes following them in interest.

“Do this a lot do you?” Remus smirked as they hit the first floor landing and hallway. Some doors were open, the rest closed. Small groups of friends had taken refuge while pairs of lovers sought privacy. Sirius ignored them all, pulling Remus towards the next staircase. 

Fewer people loitered on the second floor. There were less lamps lit, less candles. It made the yellow seam of light shining from beneath the farthest door all the brighter. Sirius tugged him towards it and tried the handle to see if it was unlocked. When it turned beneath his hand he let out a triumphant ‘ha’ and stepped in. 

For a brief second Remus froze, staring inside as laughter began to bubble through his chest and up into what started as a giggle but turned into full blown guffaws. 

Sirius was staring at him in wonder as though he’d suddenly solved a great mystery.

“When you smile… when you laugh, you are positively incandescent.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Not that I’m aware of the reason for it.”

“The library.” Remus was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. 

“...yes?”

“It’s actually a bloody library.” 

Against the far wall were shelves floor to ceiling, stuffed to overflowing with a mishmash of novels, papers, periodicals and handwritten sheets. Remus suspected he saw photo albums as well. 

“Yes... it is.” Sirius seemed confused for a brief second before snorting. “Ah, no. Library wasn’t a euphemism for anything. Although there is a lovely chaise just there.” He swept a hand towards a well worn chaise against the opposite wall. 

Remus enjoyed the blush that had crept up Sirius’ face as he spoke and moved towards the bookcases to peer at the spines. After a few seconds, he tugged out a book of lost plays. Flipping through the pages, he came to rest on a fragment of Aeschylus’ ‘The Myrmidons’. A darker smile flitted across his face. 

“I always enjoyed this one. Quite against the rules in today’s society but it portrayed Achilles and Patroclus as they truly were. Achilles waxes poetic about their love for each other. Their ‘frequent kisses’, a ‘devout union of the thighs’.” He had lowered his voice as he spoke, watching Sirius’ face over the edge of the book as those grey eyes darkened and narrowed. 

Sirius moved closer and reached to take the book from Remus’ hands. 

“The Greeks were very intelligent,” he hummed, tossing the book onto the nearest surface. 

Remus made the first move, sliding into Sirius’ space and reaching to trace the strong line of his jaw before drawing him in to a lingering kiss. 

It deepened as he walked them towards the wall. He smiled against Sirius’ lips when he felt their bodies come to a stop against the old brick.

Heat seeped into his skin and he sighed in approval as Sirius’ hands came around and slid down his back, exploring the contours before reaching to yank his shirt free from his trousers. 

Fingers plucked at buttons and stiff collars were shoved out of the way as they continued to kiss. Remus found his way to the front of Sirius’ trousers and made quick work of their fastenings, past his smalls, until he was able to feel hot flesh against his palm. A shock of adrenaline had him panting, hand closing around the man’s hard cock. Sirius moaned into his mouth. 

“Christ, Remus…” he grunted, breath fast. Remus grinned, breaking off into a gasp when SIrius dipped his head to nip and bite at a bare collarbone while yanking Remus’ own slacks out of the way. He could see Sirius reaching into one of his pockets and emerge with a small vial. The stopper was flicked up and cottoning on, Remus held out his hand. Sirius poured a small measure of oil into his open palm and then coated his own hand. 

Strong fingers grasped him hard enough to make his toes curl. The young lord knew exactly what he was doing, long strokes and deft twists that had him leaning in, savouring the rush of pleasure and need that unfurled beneath his skin. He inhaled the scent of Sirius’ body, relishing the clean sweat that hid beneath a hint of lavender and smoke. 

“You smell divine,” he moaned and leaned further forcing Sirius straight up against the wall so that he could lick a stripe up the line of his throat, nuzzling behind his ear. The smell of lavender was stronger there, in the mess of black hair. 

“How do I taste?”

“Perfect.” Pulling back, Remus reached to still his wrist. At Sirius’ questioning look he instead shoved first his own and then Sirius’ trousers further down until they were fully exposed. “Together,” he said. 

“Smart man.” Sirius grasped himself, jutting his hips as Remus did the same. 

Remus braced one hand against the wall, his other bringing them together until they could lock fingers around the heads of their pricks. 

That first contact was a rush of pure bliss. 

“Fuck…” he hissed, hips automatically thrusting up into the joined heat, seeking that slick slide of flesh. Sparks of pleasure ricocheted up his spine, pooled between his legs. Sirius grunted against him, free arm wrapping around his back, drawing him close as they moved in tandem. Harsh breaths punctuated the air amidst the tang of sweat and sex. 

Faster and faster they drove against each other, catching the other’s lips when they could, chasing that carnal need for release.

Remus could feel it closing in on him, body thrumming with tension. Nothing else around him mattered except Sirius. Sirius’ body, Sirius’ scent, his sounds. He was dizzy with it. He wanted nothing more than to be like this, with this man, until his last breath. 

“You are... gorgeous…” Sirius said roughly, hand digging into the small of Remus’ back and pulling him crushingly close. “Come on... I can feel it in you... do it... come for me, let me see your face when you spill on my-”

“Nnngg... fuckk…” Remus ground out long and low, body tensing hard as orgasm stole his thoughts. Wet heat splashed over his hand, along his fingers. Sirius came only two thrusts behind him, slumping back against the wall and pulling Remus with him. 

Together they caught their breath, let the endorphins flood their bodies.

“A devout union,” Sirius finally pronounced, drawing a chuckle from Remus. 

“Very.”

There was a trunk at the end of the chaise and it was this that Sirius finally untangled himself to go to. From inside he drew out some rags. 

“Replaces them every night,” he said, tossing one to Remus. 

Remus caught it with shaking fingers, smiling as he began to clean himself up. There was no saving some of the mess but the remains could always be hidden by his coat. He kept his eyes down, intent on his task, and hid the sudden uncertainty that was teasing the edge of his thoughts. 

Would Sirius wish to see him again now that they’d achieved their end? Was this only a quick dalliance? There was no denying that a man like Lord Montagu would have no end of suitors to pick from. What if he was merely a whim? His thoughts drifted back to their conversation over dinner and how natural it had felt. Despite the brief nature of their acquaintance he felt as though he’d known Sirius longer, better. The idea of never seeing him again was a sudden blow and the intensity of it startled him.

“Well... I can’t say I have any idea how Wilkins will get this out of the velvet but if anyone can, it’s him. He is a true blessing.” Sirius’ voice was lax, the cut glass accent softened. Remus barely heard him and was surprised when a pair of shoes entered his line of sight. “You’re… pensive.” A hand grasped his, stilling the movement of the cloth. 

“I’m sorry. I... drifted.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere,” Remus said automatically before raising his head. He saw only affection on Sirius’ face and a touch of worry. 

“You aren’t... dissatisfied?” The brunette asked. 

“Dissatisfied? Lord no, not that.” 

“But something is amiss. Tell me.”

Remus’ eyes darted briefly to the side, landing on a clock he hadn’t noticed. “Is it really one in the morning? Christ, I have class at seven.”

“ _ Remus _ .”

“Yes?” He snapped his attention back, forcing down his apprehension, hiding it. 

“Do you regret coming here, meeting me?”

The question was so absurd he nearly laughed. 

“No. This was... no. This was incredible.”

“Good. Because I plan on seeing you again. More than once.” Sirius had already tucked in his shirt and fastened his trousers. “I like you. I find that I like you quite a bit. And plan on continuing to see you until you are thoroughly sick of me.” 

“Oh, I doubt very much that I will ever grow sick of you.” Remus let Sirius take the cloth from his hands and toss it aside. 

“You say that now, but-”

“No, I mean it. I like you, too. A lot. I was worried... perhaps, that this would be our only time together.”

“Don’t be stupid.” It wasn’t said with malice, more a sense of disbelief. “I am not a man who collects lovers like a hobby, or finds a new one every other day. Believe me when I say that I am truly interested in you, Remus John Lupin. That is not a thing I say to many people.”

“Right.” 

As if to drive the point home, Sirius caught Remus’ face with his hands and pulled him into a soft kiss. 

“Now, if you have class in the morning, you should rest. I will walk you to the housing-”

“No, it’s too much of a risk. But we can walk together until our paths diverge.”

“Fine,” Sirius conceded. “A compromise.”

“Thank you.” 

They finished re-dressing themselves, helping each other re-fasten collars and right buttons. When they finally descended back to the ground floor half the patrons were gone. Michael looked up from the bar with a knowing wink which Sirius returned and they fetched their coats from where they’d left them at the table. 

“See, you wouldn’t be able to tell at all.” Sirius reached to straighten a few flyaway strands of hair from Remus’ face and Remus smirked. 

“How is it that you looks as though you’ve simply been lounging all evening?”

“I live a life of debauchery. It suits me.”

“It does.” 

The night air, in spite of the heavy smog, was much cooler than the tavern and they savoured it against their heated skin. 

“Do you reside anywhere other than the rooms offered by the school?” Sirius asked, very nearly reaching to hold Remus’ hand before catching himself.

“No. Just my parents’ home but that’s out in Stoke Newington and if I were to go there I would likely let you know.”

“I will send word. Nothing incriminating should the bursar get curious.”

Remus smiled in the darkness, coming to a stop. They had reached the point where he continued on and Sirius needed to turn left. 

“Keep an eye out for my note,” Sirius cautioned, glancing around before finally grasping Remus’ hand and giving it a squeeze. “Don’t forget me.”

“As if that were possible.”

“Sleep well. Excel in your studies. Perhaps I’ll sponsor you.”

“One can dream.”

Sirius and Remus stood a moment more, delaying the inevitable, until Remus forced himself to move his feet. He could feel Sirius staring after him but kept his gaze ahead. If he looked back he would be drawn in all over again and never make it home.


	4. Chapter 4

Sirius was a man of his word. 

A note with nothing but an address and time was delivered by a footman to the student accommodations the next morning.

The young lord kept a suite of rooms in Fitzrovia, quite near Cleveland Street, which he used to escape when his family was spending the season in London. Even a palatial mansion such as Montagu House was too small a space to share with those he despised. The constant pressure to marry, to behave as his parents required, and to force his true nature aside. It was enough to make anyone mad and Sirius oftentimes felt madder than most. 

The idea of Remus in Montagu house, surrounded by the austerity and opulence of the place left a bad taste in his mouth. Here was a place built by his most noble ancestors, a place where rules were followed, rigidity applauded. 

And so he had sent along the new address and spent the day in a worried state of exuberance. 

The rooms were a bohemian sprawl or at least what a rich man considered bohemia to be. Sirius refused to sacrifice comfort and so the place was outfitted accordingly. 

Candles were lit, plates set out. Wilkins had delivered their dinner, fresh from a small restaurant down the street. 

At precisely six in the evening, Sirius stepped outside to find Remus standing on the cobbles and his heart lurched most pleasantly. 

“You look surprised to see me,” Remus chuckled and Sirius felt himself grin. 

“No, not surprised. Pleased. Come upstairs. I have supper waiting.”

And just like in the tavern, they spent their meal talking. Discussion flowed easily between them and neither man felt bored or self conscious. Sirius loved the animation in Remus as he spoke, catalogued the gestures of his hands, the quirks of his expressions. When the man smiled, he lit up. There was that indefinable thing that had so baffled him upon first seeing Remus. The why of his attraction. It was a slightly crooked, generous smile that exuded warmth and made Sirius wonder why he ever thought the other man ordinary looking. 

“Have I gotten something on my face?” Remus paused mid sentence.

“Your smile.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Which is lovely, by the by. I quite like it.”

“Not a patch on yours, I suspect.”

“Oh hush, well, not hush. Continue with your story. And let me enjoy you.”

“Of course,  _ my lord. _ ”

“Oi!” A well-turned carrot was launched across the table. 

Later when they lay naked in Sirius’ bed, exhausted and satisfied, Sirius rolled onto his side and propped himself onto an elbow. 

“When did you know?” he asked quietly. 

Remus blinked up at him, hair askew and cheeks flushed. 

“When did I know what?”

“That you liked men.”

Remus took a moment to think, gaze turned inward and Sirius worried if he’d overstepped. Perhaps it was too soon.

“...I suppose I always knew. Accepting it was something different entirely. But the knowledge was always there.” He bit his lip in thought. “Even when I began to realise that it wasn’t something I could change about myself, I was still very careful. Made sure not to let on. I had no idea of the real ramifications when I was younger but I think I instinctively knew that people wouldn’t accept it.”

“I was an idiot.” Sirius murmured. “I thought it entirely normal until I was nine. I’d said I had wanted to marry Timothy, one of the stable boys. I thought him terribly beautiful and imagined something along the lines of those fairytale books. Nanny hushed me immediately and pulled me aside. She told me not to say such things, that I would marry a countess or a lady. At the time I thought she was angry with me, but now I know she was scared for me. Every day she watched me like a hawk and it didn’t take long to learn to keep those thoughts to myself.” He could feel Remus watching him and reached to trace a line up the inside of his arm.  “Of course when I became a teenager, all bets were off. Mother chastised me thoroughly but it did no good. Eventually, we came to an unspoken agreement. I was to be discreet and it was understood that eventually I would marry, inherit the title, and most importantly, produce heirs.”

“That’s terribly bleak,” Remus finally said, catching Sirius’ hand and twining their fingers together. 

“Sometimes it feels that way, but I’ve done my best to put it off. Some men don’t marry until their thirties or later and I plan to be one of them.” Sirius shook his head in an attempt to rid the sudden hopelessness that had opened up in his chest. “I’m being terribly maudlin. I apologise.”

“I’d rather have you be honest with me, than hide from me.” Remus shifted closer, tugging on Sirius’ arm until he was once again laying next to him. “Besides, our thirties are years and years away. Nearly a decade.”

“You say such nice things.”

“Shh…” He felt Remus’ lips brush the skin of his shoulder before settling against him, eyes trained on the fire flickering in the grate. 

“Stay the night,” Sirius said. 

“My clothing-”

“I’ll have you back in time to be respectable. I promise.”

A small half-amused quirk of the lips was his answer. 

 

 

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months.

The pair found themselves spending nearly all free time together. The rooms became more of a home to Remus than anywhere else.

Sirius soon learned that Remus did not take well to extravagant gifts and, instead, had taken to bestowing new pens, pencils, quality paper, and access to any reference material the medical student might require. Even a written ticket to the famous British Museum Reading Room to secure a particularly obscure text from the 1600s.

Nights in became the custom, although the pair still made time to go to the tavern. Sirius would settle somewhere nearby while Remus worked at his papers and studied. Sometimes they would talk into the morning hours, or simply read together by the fire in comfortable silence. Walks in Hyde park became a habit as the weather warmed. Most families who could afford it left the city during the summer and Sirius relished the lack of social engagements.  

They settled into an easy domesticity that made both men happier than they could ever remember being. Even the rumours about Remus having secured a rich patron did nothing to disrupt the pair. Remus had been following papers about the spread of disease. Although most minds in the field found no merit at the notion of contagion through water and air versus environment and genetics, his professor was encouraging. A particular Dr. John Snow was championing the cause with the latest cholera outbreaks. Sirius, once Remus had explained it to him, also found the idea fantastic. 

“It makes absolute sense. Miasma... it’s a concept. Not a cause. Christ, and plague doctors running around with those crow masks thinking they were holding off black death with lavender pouches when it was most likely their gloves. Does this Dr. Snow have a patron? I could finance you both.”

It was nearly the end of June, when Sirius arrived later than expected with a face like thunder. 

Remus dropped his pencil and immediately stood. 

“What’s happened?”

“I have to leave.”

“What? You’ve only just walked in-”

“To Widdowsburne. My cousin Bellatrix is getting married and despite my most hearty protests, I could not get out of it. My coach leaves in the morning. I’ll be gone a week. Mother pushed for a month but I refuse to be locked in with those people for more than half a fortnight.”

Remus crossed the room and Sirius instantly felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders when the shorter man reached to rub at his shoulders. 

“It will only be seven days. It’s practically a palace. Surely you have hiding places?”

“I doubt I’ll be able to fit in the nursery cupboard anymore.”

“Make new hiding places. Make a game of it.”

“Write me letters everyday. They wouldn’t reach me before I return but you could keep them all and give them to me and they would be my reward for not committing matricide.”

“Or patricide.”

“That as well.”

“Murder of any kind really.”

“Alright. Spoilsport.”


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the length of his journey Sirius was loathe to leave the carriage as it made its final turn up the drive of Widdowsburne Hall. 

A sprawling gothic manor laid out in rolling fields and forest, it had been the family seat of the Blacks since its purchase and subsequent construction in the late middle ages. The old stone fortress which had stood for centuries was torn down to make way for Lord Black's lofty ambitions. Widdowsburne was meant to mimic the grandeur of cathedrals seen by the family during trips abroad and had taken years and a generous portion of their considerable wealth to complete. More than one man had died during construction. Jacobean upgrades and further additions over the years had modernized and expanded the interior but it still maintained the stark arches and tall windows. 

He could remember climbing up into the towers, sometimes making it out onto a steep roof before nanny found him and dragged him back inside with threats of informing his mother.

Even now, at twenty one years of age, the smattering of gargoyles still made him uneasy. Their twisted faces and bulging eyes followed his every move and not even the beautiful rose windows of stained glass could soften the effect. Disapproving saints stared balefully from their perches.

He felt the carriage jolt to a stop and nearly banged the ceiling to indicate that they should carry on. Even still, he stayed seated until the footman came and opened the door. 

“My Lord,” He bowed.

“Thank you, Harris.” Sirius stared out at the grand entrance with its huge oak doors and felt a shiver run up his spine. It took nearly all of his self control to climb down the step and onto the ground. Gravel crunched underfoot as he made his way across and up to the wide front stairs. 

Another pair of liveried servants swung the doors open for him, bowing. 

Widdowsburne’s entrance hall was a part of the original gothic structure. A high rib-vaulted ceiling was surrounded with long narrow windows that spilled light onto the old stonework and more modern checkerboard floor. Suits of Armour lined the long space, standing guard against wood panelling, brocade wallpaper, and tapestries that gave a small hint of colour. Doorways leading off to the rest of the house were carved into ornate stonework but the three story staircase took pride of place. Carpeted with the finest weave, it was framed by mahogany bannisters and spread out into several  well sprawling landings. Very dramatic all told. His mother’s favourite portrait had been painted with her standing regally at the bottom, one delicate hand clasping the polished wood. 

No grand reception awaited him. Besides the staff that hurried his trunk in and wished him well, only his little brother stood by the main stairs. 

“I worried you might not get out of the carriage.” Regulus Black’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. 

“I confess I nearly had them turn around.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I did not.” 

Regulus held out his hand but Sirius ignored it, moving to embrace the other man instead. 

“Sirius-”

“Shut up, Reg. You’re one of the only things I miss about this place.” Sirius felt his brother relax marginally against him and patted him on the back. “Now, where did they all go?”

“The guests who have already arrived are out for the hunt. Mother and Father decided that with no estimated time for your arrival they couldn’t inconvenience our visitors. The women have retired to the solarium.”

“I have an unimpeded path to my room. Excellent.”

“You have to greet Mother.”

“I will. Eventually. I’m tired by my travels. I need to rest.” It wasn’t convincing in the least but he enjoyed the exasperation that flitted across Regulus’ face. “Besides, I’m hardly dressed to her standard.”

“You dress to your own standard brother. Do not pretend otherwise.”

Sirius laughed. “Pardon me for refusing to camouflage this beautiful face with mutton chops and the mustache of a walrus. Blasphemy.”

“Oh yes. Heaven forbid you deprive us of your angelic countenance.”

“See, you understand.”

“Get yourself gone then. Off and hide. I will ride out to join the hunt. Did you bring Wilkins?”

“Of course. He went to ready my room.”

“Then I will relay the time we sup to your valet. Try and be respectable tonight.”

“Sometimes I think I am the only respectable person in this damned house.”

“Oh Sirius…” 

“Well, you aren’t completely awful if I’m forced to think about it.”

“Off with you, terrorise someone else.”

With a sarcastic nod of the head, Sirius set off up the stairs and towards the newest wing of the house. It lay as far from the rooms of his parents as physically possible bar sleeping in the chaplain’s home or one of the summer houses. And unlike the room he went through adolescence in after leaving the nursery, it was not a damp, cheerless, box. 

When he entered his room it was to find his bed turned down and the windows open. His mother had always forbid the habit of open casements but if there was one thing Sirius appreciated about Widdowsburne it was the lack of stench. Fresh country air was a luxury when one spent most of their time in London and the young lord refused to acquiesce to the demand. Wilkins, bless him, had long ago decided that it was more prudent to follow Sirius’ directives no matter the ire of Lady Black. 

“My Lord, hot water and a late lunch has been sent for.” The valet emerged from Sirius’ dressing room. “And I’ve taken the liberty of emptying your trunks.”

“Thank you, Wilkins. I think I’ll rest before dinner.”

The long tradition of being rarely seen and never heard was not one Sirius adhered to with his staff. Though it had taken longer with the personel who had come to the London house with him, Wilkins had quickly realised that Sirius was not like the other Blacks. And Sirius suspected, had also realised how lonely his young master was. 

“Of course. I will ensure you are not disturbed.”

“Lovely.” 

  
  
  


It was dusk when supper was finally served. Sirius had made a point of skipping the pre-dinner cocktails and socialising and it wasn’t until nearly everyone was seated at the mile-long table that he made an appearance. 

Conversation ceased. 

There were a few titters hidden behind gloved hands, tilted head and whispered words. Mostly people simply stared and Sirius made a point of meeting every single gaze with a beatific smile. 

He wore a dinner jacket of the deepest plum, trimmed in black velvet and tailored to fit like a second skin. Beneath lay his strikingly white linen shirt and a waistcoat of black silk. Upon the waist coat were flowers and other flora embroidered in a rainbow of colour. Blues, vibrant greens, peach, and blush. Red shading lended character the vine of berries that wended its way up the line of buttons. Lily of the valley twined with blue bells. Sirius had paired it with a pair of trousers in a subtle black and grey check, his necktie a royal blue and purple polkadot.

Against all of the black and formal attire of those present, he was entirely vivid and out of place. 

Exactly as planned.

Were there dinner guests outside of the Black Family tree, his mother would have retained a practiced look of indifference. Never let an outsider see a ripple of discomfiture. Airing personal grievance among outsiders was the height of vulgarity. As it was, every single person at the table had been born a Black or had married one. The curl of displeasure to Walburga’s lips would have put lesser people to trembling. Instead, Sirius walked right over, leaned to press a kiss to her cheek, and grinned. 

“Hello Mother, so sorry for the late arrival.” 

“Presumably you were tied up making a decision about which waistcoat was more offensive to the senses.”

“Got it in one.” 

His father, Orion, sat at the head of the table, Bellatrix at his right, her future husband Rodolphus on the left. Sirius sank into the empty set on his Mother’s right, directly across from Regulus.

“Why must you always try and provoke me?” She hissed. 

“Why must you always try to mould me?"

“You force me to it darling. If you would just behave in a decent manner I would not find myself in this position.”

“You look fine from where I’m sitting.”

“ _ Sirius _ ,” Regulus hissed. 

“Yes? You alright, Reg?”

“Regulus. His name is Regulus. Cease your infantile nicknames,” Walburga muttered.

From the other end of the table a voice piped up.

“Sirius?” Bellatrix was positively radiant with malice. Sirius had always wondered how the Black Family could be so aesthetically pleasing yet so morally bankrupt. And Bellatrix was a particularly prurient example. She fed off of pain. He had seen it their entire childhoods and well into the current years. She was the type of woman to snatch a hatchling from the nest just to watch its mother’s panic. Stories of her behaviour on hunts was well known though only within the family circle. It did not do for an eligible young lady to be branded a sadist in society.

“Yes, cousin?” He steeled himself for what was to come. 

“I was curious as to where you got the notion that your outside should match your inside?”

“I don’t follow.” Even as he said it, he could feel the direction the conversation was headed. But when had he ever been one to back down or hide? Across the table, Regulus opened his mouth to object but gave a half shake of his head. 

“Dressing so... extravagantly, surely it’s at cross purposes with your goal?”

“How so?”

“I think you know.” She seemed very much like a viper beneath the silk and lace. “In fact, my good friend  _ Molly _ wore a dress of that exact hue.”

“Bellatrix, you have completely lost me,” Orion cut in. “And I find the topic of dress colours tedious.”

“Apologies, Uncle.”

“No harm done. Now, the reception…”

Sirius glanced down at his soup and bit off a sigh. 

  
  
  
  


Later that evening, when it was nearing midnight and people were finally migrating to their rooms Sirius found the family butler, Staunton, at his door. 

“Lady Black requires your presence in her parlour, My Lord.”

“It’s far too late.”

“Yes Sire, she said to impress upon a matter of urgency and importance. I was not to return without you.”

“Yes, alright. One moment.” Sirius made as though to reach for his coat but paused before changing direction and walking into his dressing room. When he emerged he was wearing a deep green dressing gown of emerald silk over his trousers and shirt. A pair of battered slippers covered his feet. Staunton’s disapproval was a quick flicker across his face before he gave a half bow and left. 

Sirius trailed behind him, following into the older end of the house and up endless stairs until they paused outside his mother’s door. 

Staunton knocked, was granted entrance, and after informing Lady Black of her son’s arrival, withdrew. 

Walburga was seated on a settee, glass of wine in hand. 

“Well, here I am. What couldn’t wait until morning?”

“You will marry by the end of the year. If you do not find a bride of your own choosing by September, I will find one for you.” 

Whatever Sirius had been expecting to come from his mother’s lips, it was not this.

“...Sorry, I think I misheard.”

“Do not play stupid, Sirius. Despite your many flaws, you are an intelligent man. You. Married. Christmas would be nice.”

“You hate Christmas.”

“And you hate women. But here we are.”

“I don’t hate women. That’s ridiculous.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind marrying one.”

“Mother, this is completely out of order. I told you I would marry, that I would provide heirs to our name. I agreed to this. Nowhere did we settle on a date. Or a year for that matter.”

“Your behaviour has forced the issue. Bellatrix’s comments over dinner are only a small part of this. You promised to be discreet, Sirius. Discreet. Instead, people whisper behind your back. Your disgusting habits have been exposed.” A true flash of anger coloured her words. “I did not raise you to be an aberration. I did not carry you and birth you to have you be such a disappointment.” She set her glass down and leveled Sirius with a cold stare. “You will cease your experimentation from this point onward and you will find a bride. This is not a request.”

“Clearly.” Sirius could feel his heart thundering in his chest, pulse thudding in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch something or to collapse in the nearest chair. He settled for leaning against the wall. 

“Good. I will expect your choice within the next three months.”

“Etiquette dictates a six month courtship followed by a six month engagement. Not quite to your timeline, Mother.”

“When one is hopelessly in love…”

“But I’m not. Not even remotely.”

“Perhaps you can find a woman of good breeding who shares your malady. A mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“It isn’t a sickness.”

“It certainly isn’t normal.”

“And? I refuse to accept that my feelings, are wrong. It is who I am.”

“Who you  _ were _ .”

Sirius’ jaw was clenched so tightly that his head ached. His nails dug crescents into his palms. 

“I will give you my answer in the morning.”

“I told you this was not a request. This is an order, Sirius.”

“I don’t follow orders. My answer will come in the morning.” He shoved himself up off of the wall and flung open the door. 

“Sirius-”

But he was already out into the corridor. Chasing after him would be far beneath the Marchioness Montagu and he wound his way down towards the kitchens until he ran into one of the staff. She came to a stuttering halt and instantly dropped into a bow.

“Port. Please. An entire bottle. And a lantern. A lit one.”

“My Lord-”

“I’ll wait here.”

“Yes, My Lord.” 

Minutes later she re-appeared with wine and light and he flashed her a grateful smile and left. 

Up, up, up he climbed. Expensive finishings and furniture gave way to uncovered plaster. Old stone peeked out here and there, wooden beams exposed in the walls and ceilings. There was still beauty to be found in the decay. As a child he had tried to imagine the men, in their medieval tunics with rough tools and spare scaffolding. The notion that men with such minimal equipment could fashion these gothic ceilings had left him in awe. 

Stairs grew narrow until he was confronted with a wide ladder that lead up to a trap door. It was dark when he poked his head through and he lifted the lantern, setting it on the floor before climbing the rest of the way up.

The tower was nearly empty. Bare floors were covered in a layer of dust. Against the arched windows rested a small table and a set of battered chairs. A candle, half-melted, and a stack of books were sitting on the table top. Sirius smiled. 

“Hello, old friends.” 

It was through these windows that he had climbed outside, scampering across the roof. 

Remus’ voice came to him. 

_ ‘Surely you have hiding places?’ _

Longing hit him hard. He dropped into a chair, ignoring the plume of dust that rose around him. With trembling hands, he opened the lantern and dipped the candle inside to light. 

“I’m glad you’re not here, but selfishly, I wish you were.” Sirius spoke into the darkness.

In his mind's eye he pictured Remus in the rooms off of Cleveland Street. He was hunched over his desk, papers scattered in a chaos that only made sense to him. In his hands was a stub of pencil and he was scowling at his notes with that subtle sense of frustration that only Remus seemed capable of. Never had Sirius met a man who could mask his emotions so completely yet make them blindingly clear with the tiniest of gestures when he wanted. A shrug of one’s shoulder should not have been able to indicate that Sirius was being unreasonable about the new facade of the British Museum, and no, it was not so hideous as he was claiming. In fact, it held a quiet dignity which should be respected. All this Sirius could read in that tiny gesture. Indeed, he could remember whole conversations carried out without a single word spoken. They simply  _ knew _ . 

Remus was intelligent and funny. He was warm, kind, witty. Sirius felt more himself around Remus than he did any other person he had ever met. Even as the rational part of his mind tried to tell him that what they had was new, that the shine would fade, he fought it. With time came comfort. Time brought an intimacy and an innate knowledge that went deeper than initial infatuation. When Sirius thought of Remus, he thought of years, not months. 

Remus was home. 

A life without Remus would be utterly unbearable.

From below came a muffled thud and a curse. Sirius felt his hackles rise. 

“Why must you have the most hard to reach hideaway, hm? I have a handful of splinters from this ladder.” 

Regulus’ head poked through the open trap door and Sirius sagged back in his chair. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Mother summoned you. You aren’t in your room.”

“Brilliant deduction.”

“Shut up, Sirius.” He hefted his lantern up onto the floor, followed by a bottle identical to the one sitting on the table. 

“I forgot a glass.” Sirius watched Regulus emerge from the floor and took his feet from off of the second chair. 

“When has that ever stopped you? Ha, haven’t even opened your bottle yet? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

“Hilarious.”

“Here…” Regulus produced a corkscrew from his pocket  twisted and opened the port. When he passed it over Sirius raised it to his lips and took a long drink. 

“Well?”

“I’m sure she told you her plan.”

“She did.”

“I cannot go through with it.”

Beside him, Sirius heard Regulus sigh, coming around to swipe at the dust on the chair before sitting with a moue of distaste. He was still wearing his dinner blacks.

“Mother will find a way.”

“She won’t. What can she do? Threaten to disown me? That would be a dream.”

“You’re the heir. You have all of the credentials. You’re handsome, intelligent, you understand how things work. You’ve been groomed for this your entire life.” Regulus took the bottle back. 

“So have you. Don’t think I couldn’t see you soaking it all in. You would make a far better Marquise than I.”

“I am the spare.”

“You are the good son.”

“Lineage doesn’t account for good or bad, Sirius.”

“Regulus... you are one of the few people I know in this entire family who is a decent person. I see the way you treat the staff, I listened when you spoke of crown and politics. You’re passionate about it. I could care less.” Sirius half turned so that he could catch his brother’s gaze. “The family means something to you. The name is important to you. You would do good things with it. I. Do. Not. Want.Tit. I never have. Even thinking of it sends my heart into palpitations.”

“Sirius, bearing the title is an honour. Many men would kill for a marquesate, let alone one as distinguished as our own. Our bloodline goes back-”

“To bloody Arthur himself. Or God. It changes all the time.”

_ “Sirius _ -”

“No. Listen to me, Reg, all I feel is trapped. I would rather die or live on the streets.”

“Why can’t you do as you always planned? Marry, have children, live your life in secret. You always told me you would do your duty-”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” Sirius opened his mouth and then closed it. “Sirius, before what?”

“I met someone.”

“You have met several someones and none have-”

“This is different.  _ He  _ is different. I love him.” He could see Regulus frown in the flickering light. Not a frown of reproval but one of sadness. 

“It’s illegal. You cannot live with him as you would with a wife. What kind of life would that be? Always hiding. You’ll end up in all the papers. Our name will protect you but this man could be thrown in jail."

“I will protect him.” Sirius felt a sudden surge of defensiveness. “Anyone who dared would wish for death before I finished with them.”

“That isn’t a thing you can guarantee.”

“But it is a thing we are willing to risk.”

“It’s the young doctor fellow.”

“...he hasn’t graduated yet.”

“People were surprised when you began to patronise an unknown.”

“His mind is quite brilliant, Reg. You should hear him.” Sirius felt a hand cover his own and looked down to see Regulus grasping him. 

“I want you to be safe.”

“And I want to be happy.”

“Happiness is not meant for everyone.”

“Well, I’m a selfish bastard who wants what he wants. I shan't change my mind.

“And what will you do about Mother?”

“Not sure yet. I know what I need to do, I will have my plan by the morning.” Sirius squeezed Regulus hand. “Leave me, little brother. I need to think. And so do you. You need to prepare for your new role.”

Regulus gusted out a long sigh. “Alright. I’ll go. But please…”

“Goodnight, Regulus.”

  
  
  


 

It was nearly sunlight when Sirius finally crept down to his room to steal a few hours of slumber. Instructions were left with Wilkins to rouse him at eight and to dispatch a summons to each of his parents to meet in his father’s study at half past nine for a private discussion. 

Nearing the appointed time, having bathed, eaten, and dressed in one of his favourite suits, Sirius felt a certain sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in a long time. The closest he had ever come had been lying next to Remus but even then his eventual marriage and transition into the Marquise of Montagu hung over his head. 

“My Lord, time.”

“Thank you, Wilkins.” Sirius stood from his chaise and straightened his jacket. Halfway across the room, he paused and glanced back at his loyal valet. A man he also considered to be a friend. “Wilkins?”

“Sire?”

“Will you come with me? When I leave Montagu House?” He swallowed, a lump of emotion lodging in his throat. “I understand if you prefer to remain in the employ of my family, but I would be honoured if you chose to join me. Your family would all have positions as well. I could offer you a raise in salary.”

“May I speak freely, My Lord?” 

“Always.”

“I would rather be in the workhouse than out here with your family. No matter the pay.” Back straight, hands clasped, Wilkins smiled. Sirius felt his eyes grow moist. 

“That is... thank you Wilkins. That means very much to me.”

The valet bowed his head in acknowledgement and after a moment to gather himself, Sirius strode from the room, a spring in his step. 

In the hall outside of his father’s study he knocked twice, loudly, and waited to be called in. It occurred to him, as he stood there, that this would be the last time he found himself in this corridor, these rooms. Instead of the expected nostalgia he felt only relief and let that feeling him carry him as his father’s voice bid him enter. 

“I confess, I thought it would take longer for you to come to your senses.” Orion spoke first, standing tall next to his enormous desk. Walburga was seated in a delicate chair on his right. Sirius could see that his father was confident, dismissive almost, but his mother was cautious. It was hard to see but Sirius could read it in the angle of her shoulders and the tightness of her lips. 

“I was surprised it took me so long, if I’m honest.” Sirius ignored the chair clearly left out for him. It was positioned so that his parents would be able to stand over him, crowd him. 

“Well, now that this nonsense is taken care of, your mother drafted a list of eligible young ladies. We feel a month is more than sufficient to let you look yourself but in case you have trouble, the list will serve as reserve.” Orion reached for the topmost paper on his desk and held it out. 

“I’m sure Regulus will find the list indispensable. Of course, you should let him follow his heart as any loving parent would, but I suspect he wants to make you happy and will take it into consideration.”

At that Orion’s conciliatory expression changed. 

“Once you’ve made your choice your brother is free to pursue the others.,” he said, eyes narrowing. 

“I won’t be using your list. I called you here today to inform you of my decision to be disinherited.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Walburga cut in, rising from her seat. 

“I’m not. At least, not anymore.” Sirius stood firm, fixing his mother with a mulish stare. “Since I was a child I always thought that eventually I would become the next Marquise. That I would marry and have children and be forced to uphold the family line. Perform my duty. And it filled me with a sense of dread. The older I grew I became resigned to my fate. It never occured to me that there would be an alternative.”

“There  _ isn’t _ ,” his mother hissed. 

“But there is. You have another son. One who is much more willing and capable than I will ever be.”

“You are the first born male,” Orion said. “This is your duty. It was yours before you opened your eyes. For centuries the oldest son assumed the mantle as will you. Cease your ridiculous-”

“No.” 

“I cannot begin to count the times that I have wished that the order was reversed, Regulus is what a true son should be. But you are the heir,” Walburga had taken a step towards him, eyes burning. “And you  _ will _ submit.”

“I will do nothing of the sort. You will disown me and make Reg the new heir. He deserves it, he wants it. I do not.”

“The only way your brother will inherit is if I kill you out of sheer frustration!” She crossed her arms and stalked off towards the window. Sirius felt a small thrill of victory. Walburga hated to be seen discomfited and he found he was one of the few people who could drive her to such displays. 

“Now, take this paper and make your choice. I expect a name by the time you leave at the end of the week.” Orion shoved the aforementioned paper at Sirius but the brunette refused to take it. 

“I thought it might happen this way,” Sirius said with a sigh. “Some naive part of me hoped you would agree for the sake of family but clearly I was delusional. A bit too much wine.” His parents were the picture of exasperation and he relished it. 

“You’ve always been an overdramatic infant.” His mother said. 

“Unless you agree to let me go I will run this family into the ground.”

“Ridiculous.”

“You underestimate me. I will give our money away to anyone who asks, I will gamble until there is nothing left to offer, I will drink, I will disrupt parliament, I will tear down this house. I will not marry. I will invite whomever I please to live here, preferably those who will steal or vandalise your most valued possessions. Family secrets will be common knowledge.” He grinned, crossing his arms against his chest. “I will flaunt my ‘unnatural’ desires. You think a rumor or two is bad? I will tell the world what I am. I will go to jail over it. The family name won’t protect me if I put it as a matter of record. The Marquise of Montagu jailed for sodomy? Not the legacy you would prefer is it mother? I will also spend the rest of my years working with the best legal minds to disinherit every single person in this family. The only three who have ever shown me love are Regulus, Uncle Alphard, and cousin Andromeda who was disowned for marrying below her station. Ted would make an excellent lord, now that I think about it.”

“Lies.”

“Oh no, not at all. I will do everything in my power to ruin the Blacks until you have no choice but to disown me. And when you do, you will be left with the broken pieces of your illustrious name.”

Silence fell on the trio. Walburga had turned from the window to stare at her eldest son with a gaze very much like murder. Orion’s jaw was set, eyebrows furrowed. Lesser men would be snarling obscenities and Sirius was quite sure the twitch in his father’s fingers was for lack of being around his neck. 

“You have lived a very comfortable life, Sirius.” Orion spoke finally. “I think you have forgotten who raised you-”

“I haven’t. You and mother may have procreated but you did not raise us. That honour belongs to the men and women in this house who you treat with less dignity than a speck of dirt on your shoe.”

“You ungrateful little heathen!” Walburga was approaching him rapidly, beautiful features contorted in rage. “How dare you come in here and speak to us as though-” Sirius caught her by the wrist just before her hand would have connected soundly with his cheek. They stared at each other.

“Temper, temper. It wouldn’t do for the staff to see you unhinged.”

“How  _ dare  _ you. _ ” _

“Now, I think tonight is a reasonable time to expect a reply. I will do you the favour of retreating to the library while you decide on the best course of action.” Sirius sounded very much like his mother had the night before and it did not go unnoticed. Smiling at Orion, and then down at Walburga, he released her wrist and stepped back. “I confess I’m not much in the mood for a hunt. You’ll give everyone my apologies, yes?”

“Get out,” Orion snarled. 

“Yes, I know. I did say I would.”

“No. Get out. You can have your answer now. You are no longer my son. You are no longer the heir to this family. You can join the filth you fraternize with in the streets because you get not a cent from us. Montagu House is no longer your home. You have until the end of the week to remove your things. I want you out of Widdowsburne today.”

Sirius beamed. 

“Excellent. Thank you. I didn’t expect such a sensible decision. I will pack immediately.”

His parents were staring, stone-faced, at him as he backed up towards the door. Once he passed the threshold, Sirius paused. “The Wilkins family has decided to join me. I am giving you their notice.” That said, he stepped out into the hall and as he closed the door, thought he could hear his mother swear for the first time in his life.


	6. Chapter Six

The summer warmth in London was stifling. And it was only June.

Remus had just returned from a walk in Hyde park, an effort to cool off and escape the breathless heat of the closely packed buildings. Thoughts of cool country air and seaside memories filled his head as he crossed the cobbles and paused to unlock the door. However, when he went to the turn the key it became apparent that someone had taken the time to do so already.

A frown tugged at his lips and he quickly patted down his pockets in search of potential weapons. The fairly affluent location of their flat did not rule out burglary.

Remus made sure to stomp loudly as he ascended the stairs, listening for signs of activity. On the landing he discovered their door ajar.

“Look, whoever you are, you have three seconds to run before-”

“Before what?” A familiar voice replied.

“Sirius?!” Remus stood frozen in the doorway, frown quickly turning to a smile despite his confusion. Sirius lay sprawled on the sofa in what Remus could only describe as a state of elation. Whatever had brought him home early, he was giddy with it. That alone let Remus relax, shoulders dropping and muscles untensing.

“Hello darling, bit early, I know. But I couldn’t wait to see you. Imagine my disappointment when I arrived and found the rooms empty.”  

“I was in the park.”

“Writing me letters, I hope?”

“Of a sort... what are you doing here?” Remus stepped inside and turned to close the door behind him. Footfalls sounded behind his back and when he turned around Sirius was standing only a foot away.

“I’ve been disowned!” It was announced with the same gaiety one would use to proclaim a birth or a sudden windfall. Sirius spoke as though he’d been crowned.

“You’ve been disowned,” Remus repeated,unsure as to why this was such an achievement. When Sirius grasped him by the shoulders and drew him in for a kiss he gave in without complaint.

Their three days apart had given him time to realise how truly different his feelings for Sirius were. Never had Remus loved someone as wholly, as unconditionally, as he loved Sirius. He was willing to make any sacrifice, including watching the man get married, if it meant keeping Sirius in his life and keeping Sirius safe. It had been the one thing occupying his thoughts while the lord had been gone. Could he stand by and watch when the inevitable need for matrimony and heirs came about? The answer had been an immediate ‘yes’. It would hurt. Horribly. But many men in their positions led double lives and though he never saw himself starting a household, whatever Sirius needed to do, he would support because the thought of not having Sirius in his life at all was too painful to bear.

“Remus?” Sirius had drawn back and was regarding him curiously.

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Then I haven’t kissed you properly if your thoughts are wandering.” A chuckle forced its way past Remus lips and he felt himself grin.

“You can kiss me all you like once you explain what’s happened. Disowned?”

“Ah, yes. Come. I have some chilled champagne and sandwiches to celebrate.”

He followed Sirius to the sofa and sank down next to him. While Sirius filled their cups, he waited.

“My little brother is now the first heir to The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.” Sirius said finally, handing Remus a rather full glass of champagne and settling against his side. “I told my parents that I would ruin the family if they did not remove me from our lineage.”

“But why?” Their legs were flush against each other and Remus reached to take Sirius’s free hand, the one not holding his drink. The darker man was practically incandescent with joy and squeezed back.  

“Because I don’t want it. I never did. It filled me with dread, Remus. Always. Before I met you I thought there was no alternative. I would be forced into a life that would slowly suffocate me.” The earnestness of his words made Remus’ heart ache for his love.

“What did you tell them?”

“Anything I thought would bear fruit. I told them I would get myself jailed. Gamble away the fortune, tell family secrets.” Sirius let his head fall on Remus’ shoulder. “...families like mine have many secrets. Different secrets. There are those that are common knowledge though never spoke about. Illegitimate children, adultery, madness. And then there are secrets which never see the light of day. Secrets that could ruin. I kept my ears open as a child.”

“Smart.”

“Quite. I handed them an ultimatum. Disown me now, or watch me burn everything to the ground and be forced to disown me in the end afterall.”

“How are you? How do you feel?” Remus was stroking the back of Sirius’ hand with his thumb, studying the man’s features.

“Bloody brilliant. I’m free. And so are you.” Sirius sat up and turned so that they were facing each other. “This means I no longer need marry and I plan on living the rest of my life a confirmed bachelor. With you, another confirmed bachelor. I have plans Remus, many plans.”

Remus could feel an excitement bubbling in his chest. A sudden well of exhilaration. “Tell me.”

“Even without my inheritance I’m still exceedingly well off. My late uncle Alphard left me everything when he passed two years prior. Mother never forgave him. I have one week to vacate Montagu House. Wilkins and the staff who have decided to come with me are currently engaged in the removal of my belongings and transferring them to Blexham House, my uncle’s townhouse. It will be my official residence. But I want us to remain here. In these rooms. When you finish school, should you choose to open a practice immediately, I will back you. No-” Sirius preemptively cut off any attempt at an argument. “I know you dislike what you see as charity but once you’re established you may pay me back should you feel like it. If you would like to be an apprentice first or join another practice, I will make sure you are properly outfitted. Think of it as an investment in the future of British medicine.”

Remus let out a breath, thoughts clamoring for attention.

“...Sirius, I cannot just-”

“You can. And even if you said no, I would do it anyways. I’m your patron after all. What kind of sponsor would I be if I let my protege go off into the world ill equipped? A disgrace.”

“Your protege, hm?”

“Yes. I’m quite fond of him. Smart man, a ready wit. Cares quite a bit about those in need, enjoys his chosen profession. I hear he even reads sonnets.”

“Oh no, not sonnets.”

“Oh yes. Even a play or two.”

“Where did you find such a fellow?”

“Would you believe I nearly knocked him over while looking for the stars?”

“How... original.” Remus snorted.

“I am nothing if not a romantic.”

“Singing about the firm shape of a man’s backside, though. Weren’t you?”

“Ask and ye shall receive. I sang and there you were. Firm backside and all.” Both men dissolved into laughter, hands twined and cheeks flushed with merriment. Sirius topped up their champagne. “When was the last time you saw the ocean?”

“...I was ten.”

“My uncle has a small coastal estate in Cornwall. The stench and heat of London in summer was only bearable because it was the alternative to seeing my family. Now we have the world before us. We can summer there. Clifftops and miles of beach. Acres of garden. The forests are beautiful. I have a cousin I would love to introduce you to. She married a commoner and was banished. Say you’ll come.”

“Of course I will, you daft fool. I would go anywhere with you.”

“Anywhere?” There was a challenge there, one which Remus immediately accepted.

“Anywhere.


End file.
